


dance like a fool

by peculiarblue



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, and she's so flirty, barry doesn't know what to do with it, barry is a bartender who doesn't know how to get hit on, barry is so in love with iris it hurts me, iris saves him obviously, since the show can't give them a good wedding i'm trying to compensate, wedding au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: The only constants in Barry's life are the fact that sad singles at weddings always feel the need to hit on him when he's serving them drinks, and one mystery wedding planner with a smile like the sun is always around just in time to save him. AU





	dance like a fool

**Author's Note:**

> i've decided to never ever stop writing about westallen if that's okay with everyone. i love them so much my parents.
> 
> i realized after i wrote this, the personalities i gave them in the story give me real Earth-2 Barry and Iris vibes and i kinda like it. that wasn't the plan but yolo. love them.
> 
> song referenced in the story is "Smile" by Uncle Kracker which is a highly unfortunate and non-romantic name for my romantic story but i liked a lot of the lyrics so we're going with it. 
> 
> sorry i seem to have a habit of all my stories just being one long giant fic with possible errors because i've read it so often the words are blurring but hope you enjoy! thank you all!!

* * *

If this is how it always feels to get hit on, then Barry is pretty pleased with the fact that he’d been given the nerd gene.

 

I mean, yes, he has silently prayed for the better part of a decade to wake up and look a little less like he was just begging to get beat up by some guys with fists bigger than his skull, but that was before he was welcomed into the world of drunk wedding guests. 

 

He had been seriously lacking in the girlfriend department for so long, and what did it take? Serving drinks to a bunch of bitter, single women at a distant third-cousin, or old college roommate’s wedding? And the combed hair, think rimmed glasses, bowtie thing was finally attractive? Something about this really doesn’t seem fair.

 

He had no idea what he was missing out on, he guesses, watching the way Sally? Suzy? Stella? was currently batting her eyelashes at him, probably trying to make her smile twinkle at him in the dim, purple tinted light of the reception hall. It’s a good thing he had had such bad luck with it for so many years, because being hit on feels kind of terrible.

 

He thinks he’s probably in the minority on that feeling.

 

“There you go,” Barry slid the drink lightly across the countertop, not quite looking the girl in the eye, hoping she’d take a hint.

 

“Thank you, sir,” she wrapped a hand around the glass, and there it was, looked right up at him, and was that? Oh god. Barry resists the urge to roll his eyes. She rolls her tongue across her bottom lip before bringing her drink up. With a giggle she starts to turn, “I’ll be back!”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Barry mutters, the girl already a few paces away, and lets out a long sigh.

 

It was gonna be a long night.

 

“She was not the one I would have put money on for tonight. I was thinking redhead aunt at table 12,” Barry hears behind him, and turns to see his best friend Cisco standing to the right of the bar with a tray of food balanced in his hands.

 

Barry shakes his head, “Anyone but the aunt. They always smell like alcohol before I’ve even handed them their first drink.”

 

“Need something to get through those awful ceremonies,” Cisco claps a hand on Barry’s back, “I hope you know I’m gonna have to be blacked whenever you get hitched.”

 

“How are you going to give this hilariously spectacular best man speech you’ve been apparently planning for god knows how long?”

 

“Being drunk is precisely how I’m going to be able to give it,” Cisco chuckles, “My words are poetic and genius, but all talent comes with a price.”

 

“Never pegged you as a stage fright guy.”

 

“I’m full of surprises.”

 

“You going to go pass those out any time soon, or…” Barry dries a glass in his hand and smirks at the tray of plates Cisco holds.

 

“My boy at the bar is keeping everyone so happy-drunk they’ll never notice if their food’s cold,” Cisco says, then sighs loudly, “But alas, I will deliver, because I’m gonna need the tips for the pizza I am about to owe you when sad bridesmaid gives you her number before my bet on bitter aunt delivers.”

 

Barry laughs as his friend stalks away, suddenly the perfect picture of wedding waiter class.

 

Cisco didn’t get hit on nearly as much as Barry did in their job here at Central City Event Hall, the best place to get throw anything from an office Christmas party to a surprise 50th birthday and everything in between. No matter the occasion, a few things remained constant: the food was good (Barry and the other employees enjoyed some of the greatest leftovers in the history of the universe during most midnight clean-ups), there was a wedding every Saturday night (booked solid for at least a year, which was good for Barry’s steady employment but not much for his sanity thanks to the third constant), that Barry got hit on when working the bar at least three times at each event (and it only got cringier with the amount of alcohol he passed out). Cisco always got a good laugh at it watching over the safety of his salad plate tray.

 

He doesn’t know what makes him looks so enticing all of a sudden as people stare at him at these parties. Are these people _that_ desperate? He never does anything more than his job: fills glasses, passes tiny napkins, slides drinks to guests across the bar. But something between his general compliance to filling his job description and his hideous uniform that should only hurt his already lacking visual appearance (tight white button-down shirt, black bow tie, and of course, his glasses) makes people think they should flirt with him. Like he’s ever been the kind of guy that gets easily flirted with without the easy encouragement of everyone’s favorite liquid companion.

 

He passes a pair of Shirley temples to two preteen girls and feels very lucky for a split second that not everyone here is drunk enough to suddenly think he’s good looking.

 

He chats easily with the next few people in line, avoiding the flirting curse as he encounters a few couples, some frat-ish guys, more little cousins and glasses of soda, and a bless-her-heart grandma or two.

 

Barry sighs as he looks at the guests seated for their main course a good hour or so later, and sneaks into the kitchen to grab some more glasses before the post-dinner drink rush.

 

As he pushes the kitchen door open with his back, Cisco brushes past him in the opposite direction, empty plates on his tray. He catches Barry on the way and whispers, “Sister of the groom at 9 o’ clock, eyes all over you, buddy.”

 

Barry shakes his head and turns to see said sister directly in front of him, leaning kind of dejectedly on the side of a table of other couples.

 

“Do you even know how the time location thing works?” Barry yells back to the door, then walks to set his crate of glasses down behind the bar.

 

The next thing he sees when he stands up from behind his bar is a girl leaning on it, head in her hands. Sister of the groom. Dammit Cisco.

 

“Hey there, what can I get you?” He offers with a quip, going to grab a glass and the bottle of Malibu, girls like her are usually the type.

 

“A better love life.”

 

He puts the Malibu down. So she wasn’t one of those, she was one of _those._ A sad kind of hit on the poor, innocent bartender kind of drunk.

 

“I think my drinks are good, but probably not that good,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

 

“He’s my baby brother and he’s married before me, that’s sad, right?”

 

“Not at all,” Barry smiles.

 

“You’re just saying that,” she scoffs with a sad smile, “I’ll have a coke, please.”

 

Barry raises and eyebrow at her and she laughs, “It’s for my mom, I’ll be back for something stronger after my speech.”

 

He nods and obliges, hands her the glass, then she asks, “Have I seen you before?” She studies his face as she takes the glass.

 

“Nope,” he says almost too quickly, best to usually not ever know a guest, squash that imagination before it begins.

 

“Think I’d remember those arms, and those abs you’re hiding under that shirt,” she laughs, her sadness replaced by something that makes Barry feel like he doesn’t get paid enough for this.

 

He pushes up his glasses on the edge of his nose, “Can promise you I’m not hiding anything.”

 

“You have to be lying,” she laughs and wait. Is she… yup, she’s doing that thing. She’s leaning over the bar a little and _what kind of guy_ does she think he is? He wants to pull her dress up. Not like _that_. But just, doesn’t really want to be looking at this right now.

 

Any other guy would think he’s actually crazy, turning down girls left and right, weekend after weekend that just want to sneak him out from behind the bar and fuck him in a hallway, or a bathroom stall, to feel better about being single at a wedding.

 

But sue him, he’s a romantic.

 

He fidgets with his bow tie and shakes his head, and tries to ignore that way she says “There’s only one way for me to find out,” before she turns and leaves with a wink.

 

Never been a hook-up guy, like he could ever get a girl to want to hook up with him before he started working here. The way he has to push up his glasses again before filling the next guest’s drink reminds him exactly why. But like he said, totally cool with that fact. Being hit on was a very uncomfortable experience and he couldn’t really control the weird way his voice didn’t sit right when he’d try to handle it.

 

A little while later, he’s passed the mid-party rush and is leaning against the wall to the left of the bar, watching the newlyweds slow dancing in the center of the floor.

 

Cisco has sent him that look a few times since his conversation with the groom’s sister, knowing full well he’d have to up his game to avoid her the next time she made her way to the bar.

 

But for now, he was enjoying the light lull of a love song and admiring the happy couple, and not having a line at the bar long enough to step away for a moment. It was one of his favorite parts of every Saturday night he spent here because 1) the lull usually gave him the chance to pee and 2) He truly was the sappiest nerd. He liked love. Liked it a lot. And there really was nothing like a good first dance to lift your spirits about your nonexistent, yet uncharacteristically optimistic outlook on, love life.

 

He felt his head bop a little to the slightly country beat. Not usually a country person, but they did make some of the best first dance songs he’d encountered in his time working here (everyone gets sick of “Perfect” about a month in). The song goes on for a minute or two, then, the emcee, as always, says the couple wants to invite all the happy couples here tonight to join them on the floor for the end of the song.

 

And there Barry is, just minding his own business, when sister of the groom walks right up to him with that look on her face.

 

Oh god no.

 

“Come here often?”

 

He gets that one way too often for it to even be funny in an ironic sense any more.

 

But he chuckles. Too nice for this job too.

 

“Your drinks might not be able to cure my love life, but you just might be enough.”

 

He starts to shake his head, “I’m flattered, really but—”

 

“Come on, you can’t leave me here with no one to dance with.”

 

“I’m sure there’s someone else—”

 

But she’s determined, she cuts him off, stepping uncomfortably close, “It’s one dance,” and _yeah,_ he thinks, _then you touch me funny and want to drunkenly make out_.

 

“Besides,” she continues, “I don’t see you getting many other offers, four eyes.” Wait, was she really hitting on him and taking a jab at him at the same time? The nerve of this girl…

 

“I should really…” he starts to stay, her slimy gaze still on him as he tries to back away to his bar again, but bumps into another person instead.

 

He turns to apologize immediately, heart pounding so fast, but the woman he’s bumped into simply grabs his arm and flashes him this smile that makes him feel like he’s about to pass out.

 

“There you are, babe!” She shrieks, smile just as pass-out worthy as she does, “I leave for the rest room for 2 minutes and they start the slow dance,” she rubs up his arm and Barry instantly feels warm all over, a blush seriously impossible to hide.

 

Sister of the groom glares. But Barry can still feel mystery woman’s gaze on him and he promises, he doesn’t drink on the job, but feels so woozy at her touch.

 

“Thought I’d missed you,” she leans her head on Barry’s arm that she has just linked with her own.

 

And the way sister of the groom looks her up and down gives Barry a spilt second to observe her as well. She’s short, but just about the perfect height to reach his shoulder in the heels she’s wearing. Simple black dress, dark hair curled and falling behind her shoulders, and Barry hates the way he has this instinct to run his fingers through the waves. Her skin is dark, smooth, radiant, her eyes a deep drown and almost her most mesmerizing feature, if it weren’t for that damn smile.

 

Barry knows a mere moment had passed, but he’ll have this split second of that smile etched in his brain for god knows how long.

 

Her fingers drum lightly against his arm. He is really going to need CPR soon.

 

Sister of the groom bites her lip, nods curtly, and walks away slowly, head hung a little.

 

Bless this mystery woman. Bless her for coming to his rescue, and really, bless whoever allowed her to have a smile like that, that spread across her face in ways Barry didn’t think should be allowed, creasing the skin around her eyes and basically begging him to giggle at the way the sight made his stomach flip. I mean, this was too earth shattering to be normal. He was going to giggle like an idiot real soon if she didn’t stop looking at him, especially now that the threat was gone.

 

Barry uses his free arms to push up his glasses again, nervous habit, and comes to his senses enough to start to step away and thank her.

 

But she just holds his arm a little tighter as she whisks him away from the wall and towards the edge of the dancefloor.

 

“Um, what, are – sorry,” Barry sputters as he rushes to keep up with her quick pace, his long limbs (coupled with the hazy feeling still clouding his brain) failing him at the moment. “Sorry, is this, I’m sorry—”

 

“Stop apologizing, Bowtie,” She quirks an eyebrow up at him, then swings an arm around his neck.

 

Barry swears to god he stops breathing.

 

He doesn’t know how he’s alive, because he knows he cannot be breathing right now.

 

She looks like she’s waiting for something, but Barry doesn’t really know what’s going on, he’s never seen someone as beautiful as her and she, what? Is trying to dance with him? She uses her free hand to play with his bow tie before grabbing her other hand behind his head.

 

And so, all he can think to say is, “It’s the uniform.”

 

“I know,” She replies simply, “No one wears it quite like you.”

 

He blinks twice quickly.

 

“You’re gonna have to put your hands on my hips,” she adds, and laughs when he doesn’t move right away, “C’mon, I had more faith in you here, Bowtie. We’re not very convincing like this.”

 

And so, god knows how he does it, he wraps his two lanky, long arms around her waist. She’s perfect. He has determined yes, she just has to be the most perfect person he’s ever seen.

 

“Very good, you’re a natural,” she quips sarcastically, and pulls him a little closer.

 

“I, uh, have to work, still,” he chokes out. Pull yourself together, Bartholomew. She’s pretty and she’s looking at you like that so stop being such a… ‘Bowtie’.

 

“They’re not going to fire you,” she seems sure of it, as they step side to side and spin a little, “You’re one of the best employees they’ve got here.” And again, she looks pretty sure of it.

 

He shakes his head, this really cannot be happening, “I apologize in advance if I step on your feet.”

 

“I said no more apologizing,” she looks up under her long lashes and Barry is sure that look alone could end him, “I mean, it’s cute and all, but no need for it.”

 

Cute. Did she just… _cute? Him?_

“I had bets on who I’d finally have to save you from. I was not thinking tonight, no one here seemed desperate enough,” he feels her fingers play with a lock of his hair, “It’s the ones you least expect I guess, right?”

 

“I’m sorry I—” He starts, with a little shake of his head, which is met with a glare from her, “Nevermind, not sorry, but, uh, do you—”

 

“Wedding planner,” she quirks a little smile that lifts just the right side of her mouth when she says it, and somehow the smallness of it still makes Barry feel like passing out, “I’m here at least every other Saturday. Always got an eye on you, Bowtie.”

 

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever—” It’s so sad to admit that he can barely finish the thought, because hell, how had he never seen this woman before?

 

“I blend. It’s my job,” she says with a shrug, then sways a little to the music, “Kind of glad it did happen tonight though, I like this song.” He thinks he hears her giggle and that’s probably his cue to go straight to heaven, “When they played it for me the first time, hate to say it but, I thought of you first, Bowtie.”

 

Barry has to look up to the ceiling quick to try to restart his heart, then sees her looking at him with eyes twinkling like those icicle Christmas lights.

 

“You got some kind of nerve, walking around with that kind of smile like you’re not going to drive girls nuts,” she laughs a breathy laugh, then hums some of the song’s lyrics to herself.

 

_I see the best of me inside your eyes_

_You make me smile_

(You know he’s going to be listening to this song on repeat all night when he gets home.)

 

“That girl was really a sleaze, I mean, I’ve watched you struggle through some crazy ass cousins at these things, had a good laugh to myself in that back corner over there,” she nods her head to Barry’s left, “but this was bad. I had to intervene.”

 

“Well, thanks,” he tries to say more but it gets caught in his throat.

 

“No need to thank me, it’s working out okay for me so far,” she winks. Oh god, yeah, she really just winked at him, then rests the side of her cheek to Barry’s chest, her right hand trailing to the side to hold his next to them as they sway. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

 

“Trust me, I keep trying to tell it to calm down,” Barry laughs nervously.

 

“Calm down, you’re freaking out my date over here,” she whispers at Barry’s chest, then stands up to look him in the eyes again. She rests a hand over his heart, “I think I just made it worse,” she shrugs sheepishly, her smile a little apologetic, but mostly smug.

 

Barry nods. She laughs a little too loudly for a romantic slow dance, but Barry would listen to that on loop if he could. He’d just play that laugh of hers over and over again and dance to that for his first dance, he’s decided. It’s too good.

 

“I will be the first to admit I don’t like most of the girls that obsess over you here, but you can’t blame them,” she says and Barry sputters something unintelligible.

 

“And you’re very bad at being hit on,” she adds, her jaw dropped a little with a scoff.

 

“How, uh, how do you know that?” Barry tries to say as calmly as possible, he hears the song slowly fading out.

 

“Dude, I just hit on you. Several times,” she does the big bright smile again, nods her head at him as if this is the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re not taking it too well.”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“What’s your deal, Bowtie? Too good looking to not be able to handle girls hitting on you without me coming to your rescue. They’re usually not too bad looking either, could have your pick.”

 

“I’m, uh,” he tries to breathe as she looks up at him with the long fluttery lashes thing again, “not exactly a ladies man, if you couldn’t tell. Not unless I’m handing them their fourth round of drinks.”

 

She nods, but doesn’t seem too pleased with his answer, like she’s got him bookmarked and she’s gonna come back to that page later.

 

“Well, I don’t drink on the job,” she takes a step back, one hand on her chest the other still holding Barry’s as she walks them back towards his bar, “So, that can’t be true.”

 

She does this little thing, she probably doesn’t even realize she does it, which makes it even that much crazier to Barry, where she rubs her thumb across his hand as they walk.

 

“I’ve got to go prep the photographer for the bouquet toss. They never know where to stand,” she scrunches her nose and drops Barry’s hand at the bar, then keeps walking, “See you next Saturday, Bowtie. You owe me a dance where you say more than two words.”

 

Her little wave seems to assure him that he probably won’t be able to deliver on that. He can’t speak to a single guest at the bar for the next 20 minutes, the words keep getting stuck.

 

He feels Cisco slap him on the back towards the end of the night, some messy cake plates on his tray this turn around, “We’re eating pizza with a side of flirting lessons when we get home. Seriously, what happened to you out there?” He laughs and exits the ballroom and strides into the kitchen, leaving Barry alone to feel that warm thing inside again.

 

She smiled. That’s what happened.

 

* * *

 

“Stop acting like this defies the laws of physics or something, we’re both too smart for that.”

 

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Makes plenty— she’s good looking, you’re good looking,” Barry eyes Cisco as they walk to work the next Saturday, “What? I have eyes. You’re objectively good looking. And _you_ are the only one who doesn’t see that.”

 

“ _No one_ sees that, Cisco,” he lets out a huff of pent up anticipation. He’d been a wreck over coming to work this weekend since the minute he left the last one, still not fully recovered from… her, “I am the physical manifestation of friend-zone. Have been my whole life!”

 

“Remember that girl from high school, what was her name…?” Cisco trails and Barry groans.

 

“Do _not,_ bring up Becky Cooper.”

 

“Oooh, Becky Cooper, honey, she had eyes for you,” Cisco says with a jump in his step, “We knew you were one step above the rest of us nerds ever since then.”

 

“She doesn’t count. And we’re not mentioning her ever again,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

“Well then, _Patty_ always thought you were good looking, and boy did she love to let us know it,” Cisco laughs at the thought of Barry’s on-again-off-again girlfriend from his early twenties.

 

“Now that we’ve covered my very small and embarrassing dating resume, can we please get back to the topic at hand,” Barry keeps his eyes trained on his feet in front of him as Cisco snickers, “How I am seriously not capable of being…”

 

“What? Being a normal human and having a normal conversation with a normal girl at work?”

 

“She’s more than that,” Barry shakes his head, “And I’m a fine conversationalist.”

 

Barry hears Cisco mimic (very badly, in his opinion) his stuttering and awkwardness from his few minutes with the mystery wedding planner last weekend.

 

“You know I can smooth talk just about any person that comes up to the bar. I’m smooth, I have game,” Barry starts, subconsciously puffing his chest a little like it’ll prove anything.

 

“Yeah, but god forbid anyone under the age of 45 so much as smiles at you, and it’s game over for Mr. Smooth the bartender.”

 

“Moms love me. Girls, generally, do not,” Barry mused over the statement, which he knew was true, and which was what made this whole situation so entirely confounding. Inexplainable. Weird.

 

Getting hit on at weddings kind of made sense. He got the lonesome and heart-achey feeling some people would get and they’re drunk and he’s there, so whatever. He knows it makes some sort of sense in that specific scenario. And while he hasn’t made much progress in handling it, usually just a polite chuckle and a tap of his glasses over the bridge of his nose, it’s handled. He never sees them again. He can get away before it gets handsy.

 

I mean, he’s Barry Allen for crying out loud. Most girls know they’re out of his league and it stays that way.

 

But then this wedding planner with the smile Barry can’t seem to shake from his memory comes along, and seems to think she can just waltz over and call him cute and hold his hand and be like, yeah, this is normal.

 

It’s not normal. His heart is beating way too fast just at the thought for it to be normal.

 

“You think it was a joke? A dare? She was bored and one of her colleagues put her up to it to pass the time?” Barry ponders out lout, going through these scenarios for the thousandth time since he’d let her drop his hand last Saturday.

 

“Dude, no. How many times am I going to have to explain it, it’s not that hard to believe, I mean…” Cisco starts, “The glasses would not be my personal choice, but I can see chicks digging ‘em. And you said it yourself, when you’re not babbling at a million miles a minute, you’re a charmer, Barry Allen. You’ve got the whole, adorable, puppy dog kind of package.”

 

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Barry says as he opens the back door and lets Cisco in, “Someone like her doesn’t hit on someone like me.”

 

“Look, you can fight it,” Cisco flashes a grin back at him as the door shuts, “ _Or_ you can use the Ramon suave I’ve been teaching you since before we hit puberty, and roll with it.”

 

Barry rolls his eyes. Cisco only chuckles as he moves to start setting up for the night.

 

“I know we’re all science geeky and stuff, but just think about it for a second—screw science. She’s hot. She’s into you. Who cares if it makes sense?”

 

And as he makes his way through the kitchen and into the hall to set up the bar before the wedding party arrives for photos, he sees her run past the back window with bundles of flowers in her arms and yes. It is decided. A hearty and committed “screw you” to science it is.

 

He tries to focus on rearranging the glasses behind the bar and filling and refilling bottles and stocking up on enough of those tiny red straws, but he keeps seeing quick flashes of her zoom around the hall. She’ll pick up a bag, or a vase, or a napkin or two, lightly run in her slim black heels across the dance floor, call something to someone across the table as they all work on setting up the finishing touches.

 

He can’t help it, really. It’s not his fault she’s too good looking for it to be legal.

 

He’s doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, some kind of confirmation that she remembered him, or something. But she keeps busy, and against every fiber of his being wanting nothing more than to just sit and watch her, so does he. And soon the lights dim and he’s lost track of where she is in the room and he’s got two great aunts lined up and ready for a drink.

 

He smiles lightly and gets to work.

 

All is going just fine for a while. The couple is lovely, he laughs watching their bridal party make a silly entrance, the bride swats the groom on the shoulder with a smirk every time he steps on her skirt, the music is nice and he almost forgets about his pretty wedding planner nerves for the better part of the night and does just fine conversing with non-flirting guests.

 

“I’ll take the strongest you got back there, son,” a man slaps the bar with a hearty laugh that Barry echoes. He recognizes him at the father of the bride.

 

“Oh please, Steve, she’s not dead,” a woman rolls her eyes and rubs his back, then continues with a bright smile at Barry, “But I think I’ll have the same, please.”

 

“This might be the longest the Bride’s parents have held out on me,” Barry smirks and turns to grab two glasses, “Especially dads. Those were some slick moves, sir.”

 

The father beams proudly at the compliment, “Well, I already have two left feet, didn’t need a glass of whiskey to give me a third.”

 

Barry finishes their drinks and places them on top of the bar, smiling his signature Barry The Bartender smile. The mother grabs her drink eagerly and takes a sip.

 

“Oh my god, this is amazing!” she exclaims with a friendly laugh.

 

“It’s my Family of the Bride special,” Barry says, wiping off the counter, “Also known as the ‘We’re Screwed’.”

 

The couple seem to like that joke a lot, most usually do, and Barry smiles at them again, “And congratulations, really. You have a beautiful daughter.”

 

“You do know she’s married, right?” The father laughs so much Barry sees the drink shake, then his wife flushes and shoos him away.

 

“Ignore him. He’s in denial himself. She’s our oldest of three daughters, you’ll be seeing us again.”

 

Barry always likes talking to the families, not just for the tips, but because he’s always been a little too charming for his own good. Always been the chattiest person he’d ever met and knew it, was consistently teased about it, the way could squeeze too many words into a breath, but it also made him pretty good at this thing.

 

“Well, let him know I will never run out of my secret recipe here. Believe it or not, I can make ‘em stronger for each wedding I find you at.”

 

She waves a hand at him as if he’s too cute for words, you know, that way moms do, and says, “I will definitely be back, thank you!” tapping her glass happily at him before turning and running to catch her husband.

 

He smiles as he watches her retreat, and it’s not until then that he notices the song playing softly in the background. He’d been subconsciously humming it to himself for most of the week. Couldn’t stop the way his chest swelled. And now, here it was playing again while the wedding guests had their first course.

 

Smile by Uncle Kracker. A very unfortunate name, if you asked him, but the guy wrote a nice love song.

 

He had been doing so good, not thinking about her long enough to not need an inhaler, and it’s like one little verse of a country song sent him straight back to having heart palpitations.

 

And then he sees her and he knows it’s over. He’s a dead man.

 

She’s walking behind the bride and grooms table, just stands up from whispering something in a bridesmaid’s ear and she makes no indication that she’s hearing the same song he’s hearing and she’s definitely not letting on that she is feeling anything _near_ what he is feeling at the tune. Just click clacks her heels past the gorgeous sunset-lit window and claps her hands together behind her back with a content smile.

 

He mixes a drink for the couple who has just approached the bar, trying to will gravity to do its work and pour without spilling so that he doesn’t have to take his eyes off her strut down the back of the venue.

 

He flits his eyes down for half a second to grab two napkins and swears that in that half a second he can hear this gasp of a laugh that has to belong to her. Has to.

 

He looks up quickly and finds her almost instantly, because duh, of course. She’s facing the side. Her shoulders bounce with a laugh and her chin is tilted to the ceiling. He’s chalking it up to someone just telling her a good joke as the woman in front of him says a polite “Thank you,” taking her glass and pushing the other towards the man, but then he notices mystery wedding planner has shifted her gaze towards him.

 

Now, Barry has to have the worst pair of eyes ever born, but he swears he can see the twinkle in her deep brown ones for a spilt second where she shakes her head at the bar, crosses her arms and keeps walking.

 

“Dude, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have a hard time not believing you were the groom tonight,” Cisco says with a laugh as he crosses over to Barry at the bar, “Try to smile a littler duller, yeah? We can’t have people thinking we like our jobs this much.”

 

“Do you think I’m supposed to ask her to dance this time?” Barry says hushed, leaving against the wall behind him, “I mean, last time she did say _I_ owe _her_ a dance.”

 

Cisco shrugs, “You’re not going to though.”

 

“You’re right, I could never.”

 

Cisco shakes his head and laughs at his friend, who grows a shade closer to their dress shirts. A woman approaches the bar just as Barry starts to pace behind it, wringing his hands and biting his bottom lip.

 

“Hi, what can I get you?” He starts, voice a little shaky.

 

“Oh, I’ve never gotten to see this so up close and personal before,” Cisco says giddily, arms crossed and gaze floating above the counter top.

 

The guest just starts in on the usual routine, her eyes dark and coy, a finger tracing a pattern on the top of the bar as Barry moves to mix her drink. Cisco laughs at the way Barry’s eye go wide when one of her straps falls off her shoulder and she asks Barry to fix it for her.

 

“That’s my cue,” Cisco says and shoots Barry two finger guns with a smirk before disappearing into the kitchen door to the left.

 

Barry lets out a strangled sigh, some friend this guy is, and looks back up at the girl.

 

She shrugs a bare shoulder and Barry shakes his head, like this is just a lawsuit waiting to happen. He mumbles a “well, here’s you drink” and tries to avoid her, looking down at the counter beneath him as he slides her drink across the top of the bar, knows she’s very much still putting herself in a compromising position, and hates that when he lets go of her glass, he immediately feels another hand grab his own.

 

“Oh, please—” He tries to start apologizing, but then feels his hand being tugged to the opposite end of the bar, his feet stumbling to keep him standing from the sudden jerk when he feels a slight familiar rub across the back of his hand.

 

He looks up to see mystery wedding planner pulling him out from behind the bar, dragging their interlocked hands up and over flirty girl’s drink and perfectly curled head of hair.

 

He thinks the kiss she plants on top of his palm as she starts to scurry them away from the bar is really just to kill him. She has to know what she’s doing to him.

 

He pushes his glasses up and turns with a shocked expression, to see the girl leaving the bar, dress strap still hanging sadly, and tries to keep up with her pace for the second time now.

 

“How did you—”

 

“You get my spidey senses tingling, Bowtie,” she laughs and spins him towards her on the dancefloor with a breathy laugh.

 

He’s willing to legally change his name to Bowtie if he’ll get to keep hearing her say it this way.

 

“I was hoping to prove that I had gotten better at handling myself since I last saw you,” Barry says, noting how familiar this already feels, their stance and their sway to the slow music, “Better luck next time, I guess?”

 

“Look at you, using whole sentences, I’m impressed!” She laughs.

 

“I actually do have an IQ higher than I’d initially let on.”

 

“Who are you and what have you done to my Bowtie Boy?” she flips her hair behind her left shoulder and squeezes the hand she’s holding.

 

It’s like the little motion sends lightning right through his entire body.

 

 _Be cool,_ Barry, just be cool. Like, you’re at the bar, she just asked for a drink, be cool, be smooth, need some Ramon suave here.

 

“I am pretty much just all bowtie all day long.”

 

“Think I’ve made it clear that I don’t mind.”

 

Barry hmms in agreement.

 

“Thanks for the rescue again.”

 

“Don’t know how you held out for so long without me, you looked like you were going to pass out in front of that girl,” She says with a laugh that makes Barry think, _yeah and if you keep laughing like that I’m going to pass out in front of you too._ But she continues.

 

“I mean, I gave you plenty of opportunity to swoop in and save my day.”

 

“I thought I was an appreciate-from-a-far kind of girl.”

 

“And you’re not anymore?”

 

“I’m liking the view up close, could get used to it.”

 

“You make a habit of dancing with the bartenders at your wedding venues?”

 

“You make a habit of flirting with several girls at the weddings you work?” She quirks an eyebrow up and Barry feels all of his internal organs uncoil at the sight. He doesn’t even feel human.

 

“I do not do that by choice and you know it!” He says defensively as she laughs and he once again gets confirmation that this is the only sound he’d like to hear until he dies.

 

“Well, because I know you want to ask and you don’t really know how to…” she settles her arms around his neck, “I swear I did not notice you for a while. I was new so I’d only have one or two weddings every few months. I have sharply increased that number over the years, and have been working almost every wedding here. And no, it’s not creepy that I noticed you because honest to god you weren’t really this nervous baby wedding planner’s top priority of things to pay attention to during receptions for a while. No offense.”

 

Barry shrugs. Her gaze follows his.

 

“But I do like people watching to pass the time at lulls in the day, and you proved to quite the interesting subject, Bowtie.”

 

“Do I ever get to tell you my real name?” He asks, honestly.

 

She seems to contemplate it for a moment, and Barry feels really tempted to just blurt it out and kiss her and whatever. He tries not to think about that as she scrunches her nose and shakes her head, “No, I’m gonna keep Bowtie.”

 

“Really?”

 

She nods seriously. He feels himself fall deeper and deeper.

 

“You’re really pretty,” he says in a daze, voice lofty and light, and then _shit._ He did not just say that. But he did. He didn’t, did he? Oh crap, he did. “Um, I mean, you’re this, place is pretty and like you decorated it because you’re the wedding planner, so it was just like a compliment by the transitive property like when A equals B or—”

 

“I think you’re very pretty too,” she says, tilting her head to the side and smiling so big it’s like there’s not enough room on her face to fit it, “And I hate math, so just. That’s it. You’re pretty.”

 

Barry can’t help the deep breath he lets out right in her face. She scrunches her eyes with a grin as it hits her, and it’s Barry’s instinct to touch her cheek in apology. He tries to convince himself he doesn’t see her whole face illuminate at the touch, because that would just be too good to be true at this point, but there she is. Radiant.

 

“You’re something else, Bowtie.”

 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

 

“You’re not doing so bad, I’m already scrolling through my mental calendar for when we get to do this again.”

 

Barry looks over at the bar and sees Cisco leaning on its side, and shoots his two big thumbs up. Barry laughs before looking back down at her, “So I’m a little more convincing than last time?”

 

“Mhm,” she nods, and swells in a breath before adding, “But I mean, probably wouldn’t hurt to call me pretty again.”

 

Barry can’t help the way his jaw drops a little.

 

She laughs and presses her fingers under his chin to shut it, “You know what? You did good enough for just night two,” she pats her hand twice on his shoulder before spinning them towards the wall of the room and starting back towards the bar, the song ending as Barry continues to gape at her.

 

“Looks like we’ve reached your stop,” she keeps walking though, Barry’s arm not letting go of hers as he stands at the bar, and their arms stay outstretched until she can’t hang on any further. So she winks at him, smiles, and lets her arm drop with a happy swing.

 

“Did I at least earn your name?” He tries to yell before she gets too far, and she turns, walking backwards slowly, hands shoved in the pockets of her sleek maroon jumpsuit.

 

And all she does is shrug her shoulders up.

 

Barry is sure she sees the way he collapses against the bar before walking back behind it.

 

He’s also sure he’s picked up some sort of superpower where he can hear her laugh from anywhere.

 

* * *

 

He tries not to let it show how disappointed he is when she is nowhere to be found the next Saturday, but there’s not much he can hide from Cisco.

 

“You are truly the cutest sad puppy I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Look at those eyes! You’d make millions in one of those Christmas commercials where they ask for money to save the pets.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes,” Barry says with a harsh sigh as he wipes the top of his bar, Cisco making himself comfortable sitting on the floor behind it trying to avoid cake plate cleanup, his least favorite part of the night.

 

“I never said anything was wrong with them! Actually, it’s a good thing, because if you weren’t at least the tiniest bit sad to not see your girlfriend—”

 

“Not my girlfriend,” Barry’s lips pressed together tight and thin with a shake of his head.

 

“No one here ever believes that. Even _I_ don’t believe it, and I know you,” Cisco says looking up at Barry, eyes wide and bright, “I can probably find someone here who has her number.”

 

“I can’t talk to her when she’s standing in front of me and all I have to do is put two sentences together before a song finishes. What makes you think I’d be able to carry on a whole conversation!?”

 

“I mean, you’d type and re-type each text at least 17 times then send it to me to check, and change it again when I said it was good, but I think you’d get there eventually.”

 

Barry lets out an exasperated huff as Cisco continues to badger him about his apparent feelings for his mystery wedding planner. Well, not _his_ mystery wedding planner, you know what he means, because, she’s not planning his wedding or anything, not that he’s getting married to anyone, not anyone at all, well not right now at least, like maybe he’d get married in the future, he’s not ruling it out altogether and then if she wanted to sure, mystery wedding planner could plan this, hypothetically far in the future wedding thing, and it’s not like he’s claiming her as his or whatever just like, she’s the mystery wedding planner he’d met twice now and—

 

If his speech is anywhere near as annoying as his train of thought, he doesn’t think she’ll stick around for a third dance.

 

Which is exactly why he’s been trying to get Cisco to drop it, because it is still the most unrealistic thing he’s ever entertained the thought of, and he’s seen every movie created about aliens.

 

But dammit, he really missed that laugh of hers while he watched all the couples in the room slow dance earlier tonight.

 

“Can we at least agree, even though she’s not my girlfriend and probably never will be, I would need to know at least her name first.”

 

“Whose name?”

 

Barry looks up quickly from the clean spot he’d been fixated on while avoiding Cisco’s knowing gaze when he hears a voice from the other side of the bar.

 

She’s tall, reddish-brown hair, a light smile on her lips, and elbow perched on the edge of the counter, eyes that couldn’t be looking anywhere but directly at Barry.

 

And he was doing so well tonight.

 

He blinks twice and grabs a glass. Asks her for her order, glancing down at Cisco while he starts to pour.  


“You never answered me, who are you looking for, cute bartender?” Barry was hoping she’d drop it. Apparently, not. He shakes his head, she continues, “Well, aren’t you chatty. Hiding anyone good down there that you keep looking at?” she peers up and over the bar.

 

“A friend avoiding work.”

 

“Ah,” She says with a nod, “so is this a _girl_ friend or…”

 

“Nope, not a girl, totally a dude,” Cisco pops up almost immediately, brushing off his pants and smiling brightly at the girl.

 

“No girlfriend, got it.” Barry finishes her drink and slides it across to her, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. And god, the look he knows Cisco is currently giving him, one that says ‘no girlfriend, my ass!’, is making him want to shrivel up and die.

 

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” Barry finishes off with a polite smile, but the girl doesn’t move. (Cisco giggles, “Bring out the popcorn, baby!”)

 

“Do you need anything else?” Barry offers.

 

“Yeah, actually,” she starts, “would you mind helping me find the bathroom?”

 

“Oh, no problem, just go out those doors right over there, walk down the hallway and make the first right—” Barry starts to navigate with his hands, but she cuts him off.

 

“You know, I’m _really_ bad at directions, and with what I’ve hand to drink tonight, I think it would be better if you showed me the way.” She purses her lips around the straw in her glass and takes a sip, eyes fluttering up to him under her long lashes.

 

“That’s, no, I couldn’t, I mean, it’s not that hard to find…” Barry stutters, making sense of what she’s not very subtly implying.

 

“I would really appreciate it, plus this thing’s almost over, you deserve a break.”

 

“You know, I really shouldn’t, I have…” a mystery wedding planner that I’ve got the biggest crush on since I was in seventh grade but can’t admit it to anyone, not even myself, because she’s so far out of my league and I am absolutely terrible at thinking coherent thoughts that don’t involve wanting to kiss her whenever she’s brought up? Probably a bit too much of a mouth-full.

 

Cisco is loving this way too much, and as much as Barry wants to shut this girl up, he knows he’s going to regret giving Cisco the satisfaction he’s about to give him when he finally decides: to hell with it.

 

“I actually, uh,” he clears his throat loudly and nervously pushes up his glasses, “do, uh, I do have a girlfriend.”

 

Cisco’s jaw drops.

 

“Really?”

 

Barry nods furiously and feels his whole body shake in time with it.

 

“Guess it was too good to be true. All my friends over there said no way in hell someone like you was single, and I was the only one brave enough to come figure it out for them,” She nods over to a table of other girls, then looks back at Barry, “So who’s the lucky girl?”

 

“Oh, she’s, she’s not here.”

 

“I didn’t think she would be, unless your girlfriend is coincidentally on the guest list of every wedding you work at.”

 

Barry chuckles nervously and shifts his glasses again, “Right, of course, why would she be here? You meant like, what’s her name and stuff.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Right so her name…” Barry scrambles for something and looks up at the centerpiece on the table right across from the bar, a towering vase filled with… “Lily. Her name’s Lily.”

 

“Pretty name, must be a pretty girl.”

 

“Oh you have no idea,” Barry feels himself instinctively melt at the thought, an image of her smile looking up at him in the glow of a slow dance coming to mind, “Don’t know what she sees in me.”

 

“I can think of a few things,” she replies with a laugh, looking at Barry, swirling her drink around in the glass, “Though I’d keep doing what you’re doing having your hot not-bartender friend hide. If I’d have known he was there I’d have never looked twice at you. He’s way more my type.”

 

Cisco gapes and Barry and the girl laugh.

 

“You still need help finding the bathroom?” Cisco manages to say.

 

“I would very much appreciate it,” She says, and Cisco all but runs around the side of the bar, “No offense, cute bartender.”

 

“None taken. None at all.”

 

“Thanks for everything, and thank Lily too, for helping set me up,” she nods at Cisco as they start to walk away.

 

“Who—” Barry starts with a furrowed brow, then realizing, almost jumps and says, “Yes, of course, Lily, I’ll let her know.”

 

“Yeah, say hi to your _girlfriend_ for me,” Cisco says with a wiggle of his eyebrows before running towards the double door entrance with the girl.

 

“I’m working on it.”

 

He feels totally embarrassed after the adrenaline of his split-second lie wears off and he paces outside the building waiting for Cisco that night until it feels like he’s worn out the bottoms of his shoes.

 

He resigns himself to spending every spare second he has until next Saturday coming up with ways he’ll be able to get around her, or at least, the way he name-dropped her to get away from a flirting girl without actually knowing her name. He knows he could avoid it, or lie, but he thinks about those eyes of hers and know he’ll freeze, panic, and make it worse, like, word vomit his way into skipping lying about dating her and going straight to putting a ring on her finger (which doesn’t sound half bad).

 

However, as fate would have it, he doesn’t get until Saturday, he barely makes it to Tuesday.

 

He’s backing out of the kitchen with a cart of glasses to wheel into one of the smaller banquet halls for a baby shower that night when he hears it. The laugh.

 

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ve dealt with much worse.” He hears her voice before he sees her, though he tries not to look because he’ll probably crash the cart from staring at her.

 

He catches her by the entrance of the lobby he’s currently crossing, one hand holding her phone up by her ear, the other picking at something on her nails.

 

“Did she really? Well, I have seen my fair share of Bridezillas, and that’s—” she laughs again, “She’ll be over it in the morning. Trust me.” She starts to slowly pace in front of the door, her heels making a soft click sound as she does, and Barry feels like freezing.

 

“Okay, I’m going to go make sure they have the right color napkins, and the right number, we don’t need another James debacle,” she sighs and turns, her back towards Barry, while she says goodbye to whoever she’s on the phone with, and Barry tries to make a run for it into the hall before she can see him.

 

But the glasses are wobbly, so he manages a quickened stride, at best.

 

When she flips around to walk to wherever he assumes they keep the napkins she’s looking for, Barry knows she’s going to be looking right at him. And he also knows he hasn’t had time to re-rehearse options #4, #13, #27, and the whole #30-35 of ways to talk to her about last Saturday yet which leaves him just so underprepared.

 

So his brain short-circuits and all he can (stupidly) think to do to avoid near certain death by blushing is drop to a crouch behind the cart as quickly as possible.

 

Not his brightest moment.

 

“You drop something, Bowtie? Or are you just that happy to see me?” He hears her yell from across the room with a laugh and if he was not mistaken, accompanied by the sound of steps getting louder and louder and…

 

“Who are we hiding from? Should I watch for broken glass before I join you?” She’s suddenly standing in front of him, chin tucked and head quirked as she looks down at him, radiant as ever.

 

Barry feels like he could have dropped all the glasses on the cart and been sitting on the evidence and it wouldn’t have compared to the tingling feeling traveling through his body right now.

 

“Please don’t tell me I need to rescue you on a Tuesday afternoon,” she says seriously, with just a hint of laughter on the edge of her voice.

 

“Possibly…” He squeaks out (stupidly, for real, can he get it together yet?)

 

She squats and then sits next to him, back against the cart Barry is still clutching onto from the floor, “Aren’t you quite the little heartbreaker, Bowtie, I leave you for one week…” She shakes her head, “So show me, who are we avoiding today? You look nervous, even for you.”

 

“I am a new level of nervous,” Barry starts, “Which was why I was trying to _avoid you_.”

 

“Me? I make you nervous? Gee, I had no idea!” her smile twinkles with a giggle as she says it, and Barry wishes for once se could speak, maybe even just one sentence, without that laugh that constitutes having its own religion.

 

“If you haven’t noticed, things like this don’t happen to me often.”

 

“I’d say you get hit on plenty.”

 

“Yeah but by a certain group, never anyone quite like…”

 

“Me?”

 

Barry nods.

 

“I don’t think it’s such a big deal. Yeah, I like messing with you, but I’m also pretty sure I just like you.” He can’t help the way he flashes her the dopiest grin when she says it, so she giggles and nudges his shoulder with an exasperated, “What?”

 

“Nothing I mean, you just say that as if I’m supposed to know how to handle having the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen tell me she likes me on a Tuesday afternoon.”

 

“It honestly makes you that much cuter that you have _no idea_ how to handle it.”

 

“I guess that’s good to know.”

 

“Now, I hate to divert from the topic of how gorgeous you think I am, but I gotta ask,” she turns to face him more directly and Barry feels his whole face heat up, because he wouldn’t mind talking about how beautiful she is for at least enough hour, or three, “Have you heard about this rumor going around the place?”

 

Barry shakes his head. She continues, “No, right? I hadn’t heard it until I got here this morning, crazy thing: Someone from valet heard from someone in the kitchen who was told by a waiter that overheard some girls talking at a wedding last weekend that the bartender here has recently started seeing someone.”

 

Thank god he’s already sitting because he would have fallen over. He feels like he could defy the laws of physics and fall over from sitting right now.

 

When he doesn’t say anything she adds on, “I mean, it’s a long web and no one really knows what’s true and what’s not, but Chris outside told me he heard he’s quite smitten. Apparently, he met her here, and now everyone’s got bets on who the lucky girl is.”

 

“How did… I mean, who is…”

 

“Don’t know any details, but honestly, my money is on the wedding planner. Saw her making heart eyes at him across the room last week. Don’t know if he noticed though.”

 

Barry lets out this kind of laugh-gasp-cough-chuckle with wide eyes. She holds his hand and helps him up to standing again, and he feels all kinds of wobbly.

 

“You have someplace these are supposed to be, I assume?” she nods at the cart, Barry blinking and eyeing their still interlocked hands closely. Then he realizes, yes, these were supposed to have made it to the bar at the back on the small event room a while ago. So he starts walking, but his mind is far away from glasses at the moment.

 

“I can explain,” he half pleads, half questions (Can he? Can he really?), and she nods him on, “Okay, so I was doing just fine last weekend without you, I think for at least the first 3 and a half hours of the party you would have been really proud of me, but then, at dessert this girl came up to the bar.”

 

“Oh no, not a _girl!_ ” She feigns mock horror as they continue to walk.

 

“I thought she was flirting with me, I mean, I was sure she was, and she pointed to this whole table of her friends who wanted to know if I was single, and then she wanted me to take her to the bathroom, for you know, non-PG 13 things, I can only assume, and I wasn’t about to do that, of course, and the only way she’d let me get out of doing that would be—”

 

“If you had a girlfriend.”

 

“Exactly. But, I didn’t think I was convincing enough for her to believe it, let alone the entire staff.”

 

“So it’s not true?”

 

“No, no, I just panicked and made it all up.”

 

“Well, I don’t know why you think I’d only be proud of you for before that. You’re kind of a bad-ass, Bowtie.”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far…” He blushes at her brightness.

 

“No, really, that’s totally a me move. Guess I taught you a thing or two, huh?”

 

“Yep. Definitely,” he says with a sigh as starts to unpack the glasses and stack them behind the bar. She leans an arm on the counter and watches him over the top.

 

“Well, it’s still a shame it’s not true. Like I said, I was rooting for the wedding planner.”

 

“So am I,” Barry blurts, without thinking, and sees her wide-eyed gaze sparkle with a laughing smile, and suddenly feels ten times smaller. “I mean, I don’t even know your name.”

 

“Isn’t that half the fun of it?”  
  
“Not when I’m trying to make up a name for my fake girlfriend and all I can think of is you.”

 

And now Barry knows what he must look like 99% of the time she’s talking to him, because her face is shiny, awe-struck, and kind of amazing to look at.

 

“What’d you go with?”

 

“What?”

 

“Her name, the fake girlfriend. Gotta size up my competition.”

 

“There’s no—” _competition,_ Barry starts, and sees her eyes twinkle. He shoves a hand in his pocket and fidgets with his glasses, “Lily. Uh, I was at a complete loss, so I just happened to look at the centerpiece on one of the tables and went with it.”

 

And she downright chuckles at that.

 

“Bad? It’s bad, I know,” He gets more nervous as she continues her loud display of mirth, and take his glasses off to subconsciously and nervously rub the lenses clean with his shirt. When he looks up, she takes the glasses from his hand.

 

“You’re very cute, Bowtie, you know? Just in case I’ve forgotten to mention it today.”

 

“Barry,” He says, barely above a whisper, “Uh, I mean, I like Bowtie, but I’m not wearing one now, so, figured this might be my only shot to get you to call me by anything else.”

 

“Okay, Barry,” She says with a smile that rivals the sun, then places his glasses back on his face, “Anything else you wanna tell me before I go deal with the incompetence of the unpaid-intern working with me this summer?”

 

He doesn’t like being on the spot like this. There are so many ways this could’ve gone better.

 

“What the hell, right?” He mumbles to himself before straightening and looking up at her, right into those beautiful, bright eyes of hers, “Even if I do not need to be rescued this week, I would really like to dance with you again.”

 

“You sure you don’t have a girlfriend?”

 

“I’m working on it, actually,” he musters up the courage to say, and Cisco might call this Ramon suave, “There’s this wedding planner that works here often that I can’t stop thinking about.”

 

“Ah yes, I was rooting for the wedding planner. I might just make a buck off of this.”

 

“You know her? She’s so out of my league, I mean, her smile, her eyes, and don’t even get me started on that laugh,” he shakes his head, and mystery wedding planner looks downright tickled, “So, you think I’ve got a shot with her? Or should I just give up now?”

 

“Go for it, Bowtie. I’ve got a feeling she can’t stop thinking about you either.”

 

She squeezes his hand across the bar tight, then with a smile starts to walk away, very slowly, looking Barry up and down as she walks backwards.

 

“Why are you walking that way?”

 

“I like looking at you.”

 

“Please don’t fall.”

 

“Only for you.”

 

Barry has to gasp at that one. When he recovers he asks, “Will you be here Saturday?”

 

“As long as Lily won’t be,” she giggles as she raises her voice to still reach him, almost out of the room completely, “Nice name, pretty similar to my own. Guess you’ve got a type.”

 

And she spins, her hair bouncing on her back, as she walks out the door, leaving Barry all alone and true to rumor, _absolutely smitten_.

 

* * *

 

 “I can’t believe we went to school together and I don’t remember you!”

 

“Could have gone my whole life torturing you, Bowtie. I bet you were the cutest little thing all dressed up for school, god the sweater vests and clip on ties, oh my god and your shoes, I’m going to explode just thinking about it!” Mystery wedding planner almost squeals into Barry’s shoulder the next Saturday night during their third slow dance of the day.

 

She had found him before the party started and suggested they practice so that Barry wouldn’t freeze up on her again. She twirled him around the event hall’s lobby with a floating giggle and hums of a soft love song Barry didn’t recognize. And she was right, because by the time it came for everyone to join in after the couple’s first dance, Barry only apologized three times before the song was over, only touched his glasses twice, and promised her one more dance before the night was over, which made her smile like he’s never seen before (and that’s saying something, coming from him, a man so enthralled with her smile).

 

Conversation was tricky at first, he could not shake the awkward from his personality for the life of him, but she seemed to really like it, and he really liked listening to her voice, even if it was to tease him.

 

They were currently absentmindedly swaying to whatever song was playing in the background, in the corner of the room by his bar, most of the guests gone by now, or at least leaving.

 

He’d learned a lot about her, about her favorite color and foods she liked and her list of dog names for the future, and where she grew up and her family and all the books she loved to read in her spare time. But for some crazy reason, she was still holding on to her name.

 

“I was such a nerd in school.”

 

“But a cute one, definitely.”

 

“You seem very sure of my cuteness.”

 

“You’ve been just about the cutest person I’ve ever seen since I saw you spill like three drinks all over a bride’s grandma last February.”

 

Barry pales and claps a hand over his dropped jaw, and she throws her head back in laughter.

 

“I had just successfully blocked that from my memory, thank you.”

 

“It was so cute! You felt so bad and you kept trying to fix it but you dropped it every time, with your long, shaky hands,” she laughs, “I couldn’t have missed it.”

 

“I can’t believe you remember that. Wow. And you still wanna dance with me?”

 

“Oh absolutely, Bowtie,” She hugs her arms around his neck a little tighter, their noses almost toughing as she peers up at him, “I haven’t looked forward to horrifically long wedding days this much since, oh, I don’t know when.”

 

“I think,” Barry starts, “That for every time you call me Bowtie, I should get at least one hint at your name.”

 

“I already gave you a hint!”

 

“So, are you just going to make me guess blindly? My flower vocabulary isn’t that extensive.”

 

“Oh please, there like 3 flowers that actually work as names—it shouldn’t be that hard.”

 

“How do I know your parents weren’t super into daffodils or something?”

 

“You think my name is Daffodil?”

 

“Chrysanthemum?”

 

“You are digging yourself a hole here, Bowtie.”

 

“Marigold?”

 

“Is this what a not extensive flower vocabulary looks like, because I’d hate to see what an actually extensive knowledge would be.”

 

“Tulip? That’s kind of cute.”

 

“No one should ever let you be in charge of baby names in the future.”

 

“Okay fine, I’ll be boring. Rose?”

 

“A much better guess, but no.”

 

“Daisy?” She shakes her head. “Violet?”

 

“I feel like you’re getting closer.”

 

“Really?” Barry perks up and scratches his head in mock contemplation, which makes her laugh. “Hmm, Lavender?”

 

“No, no, go back.”

 

“Well, I mean, you said Violet was close…”

 

“Stop thinking so hard, I’m losing patience.”

 

“Wait now I really have to think…” Barry muses, one of his hands playing with the bottom ends of her long wavy hair, “You sure it’s not Lily, right?”

 

“ _Iris,_ Barry. My name is Iris!” She yells, holding his face with her hands. “Iris West.”

 

“Jeez, I was gonna guess that next.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” She rolls her eyes and tilts her head to the left, smirking to herself at the way she can see his bright blush even in the dim light, before wrapping her arms around his neck again, “I was getting impatient.”

 

“I thought you liked the mystery!” Barry wiggles his eyebrows at the word and she lightly kicks his foot, a scrunched-up smile on her face.

 

“I _did_ , but it turns out, the more I learn about you, the cuter you actually get. So, I’m hoping the more I reveal about myself will have the same effect on you.

 

“Not necessary,” Barry shakes his head, “You’ve already far surpassed the normal human cuteness level.”

 

“When you say stuff like that I sometimes forget why I call you Bowtie.”

 

Barry pushes up his glasses and ducks his head while his blush deepens.

 

“But then I remember.”

 

“Sorry,” he says nervously, and she’d look almost annoyed if she wasn’t smiling so bright.

 

“Would you stop apologizing? I obviously like it.” He can feel her fingers lightly on the back of his neck, her eyes flit down for a second, woah, hold up, did she just look at his lips, he can’t slow down his heart if he _tried_ , what is this woman thinking, then she says earnestly, “I like you.”

 

“Right back atcha, Iris West,” He says it proudly, like he earned her name and he’s never gonna stop saying it as long as he’s got it.

 

“Barry Bowtie.”

 

“No.”

 

“Bowtie Barry?”

 

“You’re not going to give up on this ever, huh?”

 

“You thought I was named Tulip.”

 

“Okay, so we call it even?”

 

* * *

 

“Dude, I don’t know how you’re pulling it off, but you are pulling. It. OFF!” Cisco slides behind the bar and next to Barry weeks later, as Barry finishes cleaning up his bar before the guests arrive.

 

“Wow, all that faith and belief in me from a few months ago just went right out the window.”

 

“Listen, as best friend it is my duty to appear as if I always have 100% total faith in you. Blind and completely unfounded faith, maybe, but it’s gotta at least look like I trust you. How else am I ever gonna get you out of my apartment?”

 

“Our apartment.”

 

“Soon to be mine, lover boy.”

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Barry dries a glass and rolls his eyes at his best friend’s excitement.

 

“I feel like she has been making those stupid googly eyes at you for far too long for us to even entertain the idea of this being a joke anymore.”

 

Barry sighs thinking of said googly eyes. Gorgeous eyes, is more like it. It’s gotten so bad that he actually picks up as many extra shifts as possible during the week just to see her. She is more charming than he ever thought possible, he realizes, once he sucks it up and learns how to speak to her without fear of passing out as he did the first few weeks she’d danced with him.

 

They’ll hide out on the floor behind his bar late after parties when clean up finishes, they’ll walk around the gardens out back if he gets there early enough, they have gotten lunch several times and even a fancy dinner (which Barry still has trouble believing was real, saves all the receipts from restaurants just to remind himself it all actually happened), and if he’s not seeing her, well, god bless whoever up there made this happen, he’s got her number.

 

“If you do not man up and kiss that girl, dude, I swear…”

 

“Cisco, have you met me? I literally just learned how to look her in the eyes without having a heart attack.”

 

“So?” Cisco looks over at him, seriously, “I know CPR. I’ll revive you. I think it’d be worth it.”

 

Barry nervously fidgets with the glasses on the countertop and then the glasses on his face, then bounces on his toes, “Ah, I know, I know, I know, I _want_ to. And she’s been dropping not so subtle hints that she wants to as well.”

 

Take this morning for example: He’s walking over to his bar, a case of beer in hand, when he hears a thud. He turns to his left, to see the source, and sees Iris standing up on a chair at table 12, a box of decorative centerpiece branches seemingly toppled over to the floor, its contents spilled. She shouldn’t be so happy about her decorations all astray on the ground, but Barry guesses her bright smile has something to do with her eyes catching his own.

 

So of course, he throws his own box behind the counter and rushes over to her.

 

“Don’t worry about it, the box was top heavy, bound to fall over anyway,” she waves him off with shrug then gets back to standing on her tip toes to tie floating lights to the ends of the branches already resting in the vase on the table.

 

“Let me help,” he offers.

 

“Barry Allen, I did not build my wedding planning empire for 5 years without your baby giraffe body for nothing.”

 

“You are the most strong, independent, fully-capable wedding planner I know— ”

 

“I’m the only wedding planner you know, Allen.”

 

“—but I could reach that branch in two seconds. Let me help. Not because you need it, but because I want to.”

 

She rolls her eyes with a sigh, then extends her arm out to her right with a small flourish.

 

And Barry, with his baby giraffe body, reaches up ever so effortlessly to attach her light.

 

“My hero,” she sarcastically sing-songs.

 

“I’ll never help you ever again.”

 

“Never?”

 

“Unless you ask,” Barry peers up at her, still standing on the chair with about an inch or two on him, “ _Nicely._ ”

 

“Am I not always nice to you, Bowtie?”

 

He looks at her pointedly, “Has not been my experience.”

 

“I’ll have to work on it I guess. So I can get around to _nicely_ asking you to kiss me.”

 

Barry stares at her, wide eyed, jaw a little dropped on accident.

 

“I, uh,” he stutters.

 

“You going to leave me hanging now?” She hops down from her chair and stands up against him, Barry can feel her body heat radiate from him toes to the tip of his head, or maybe she still leaves him that flustered just from a smile. “Unbelievable. When I am I going to get it through that pretty little head of yours that I’m kind of crazy about you?” She reaches a hand up to ruffle his hair. He squints his eyes with a tucked chin and blushing smile.

 

“Never.”

 

“Never?” she laughs and tilts her head even higher to look at him, then Barry feels her wrap her arms around his waist and (god, help him) slip one of her hands into his back pocket. “Maybe I’ll really have to speed up this ‘asking nicely’ thing.”

 

“I’m not going to make it that long if you keep looking at me like that.”

 

“That long? Like I’m not about to go practice to myself in the bathroom mirror until I can steal you away tonight.”

 

“Tonight? We’re gonna be nice and believe that you like me and kiss all in one night.”

 

“Don’t flake on me, Bowtie, I know you’re gonna want to.”

 

“No faith in me under this roof, I swear,” He says with a huff, slowing leaving Iris and starting to walk back to his bar.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I _will_ drag you out from that bar myself if I have to, I’m bigger than I look!”

 

“Really? Need me to hang up any more of those lights?”

 

She ignores him and continues, “But some smooth Bowtie action would be appreciated before I try to plant one on you.”

 

“Believe me, no one is more excited about this than me.”

 

“That could be argued,” she smiles and points her finger at her chest, then turns to continue decorating.

 

When he recounts this whole interaction to Cisco, they both nearly fall over from shock.

 

“Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?” He looks at Barry incredulously.

 

“I guess the Ramon suave is finally catching on around here.”

 

“About damn time Allen, about damn time.”

 

So… the night comes and goes—he mixes drinks, passes them on, smiles at guests and this one pretty girl across the room.

 

“Okay so I practiced, and—” Iris yells proudly as she walks towards Barry at the bar, but is met with an unwelcome yet familiar sight.

 

There’s a girl all over Barry, as all over as she can get from in front of a bar countertop, and Barry knows Iris has never looked unattractive, not once in all the time he knows her, and the jealous face he’s sure he catches her making right now is no exception (it’s honestly, kind of hot).

 

Iris stops a few steps away, and watches as the girl twirls a drink in her hand and leans up and over the bar on her tip-toes. And she must about have it when the girl closes her eyes and parts her lips, ever so close to Barry, because she all but sprints towards the bar and bumps the girl from the left.

 

Her drink spills down the front of her dress. If Barry wasn’t already an expert in the art of every minute detail of Iris, he’d think he imagined the light smile on her lips.

 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Iris gasps, and rushes for some napkins on Barry’s side of the bar, Barry eyeing her warily. She shrugs her shoulders and starts helping the girl dry her dress.

 

He hears the girl mutter an “It’s okay,” through gritted teeth, and grows a little more than angry at the way Iris rather obviously holds Barry’s hand.

 

“My head was just somewhere else, really, was rushing here to steal my boyfriend for a dance before the night ends. He works so much, this is really rare for us.” She says, sickeningly sweetly.

 

“Of course. Have a good night.” Her bitter tone could start a cold front.

 

She walks away and Iris, still triumphantly squeezing Barry’s hand, pulls him out from behind the bar.

 

“What was this about practicing? Because _that_ was not very nice, Miss West,” Barry bends to say to her. She practically twinkles, and you’d never know from that look on her face Barry just called her not nice.

 

“It was my understanding I had to be nice to _you_ , not any girls trying to steal my boyfriend.”

 

Barry knows with the drop of the b-word yet again, she can feel his heart beating about a thousand times faster than should be possible when she pulls him towards her for a dance, her head tucked under his chin on his chest.

 

“Yeah, when did that happen?”

 

“I’ve fake rescued you enough times, Barry Allen,” she says with a laugh, “And I feel like if I waited for you to ask me out I’d be 40 and single and never get to plan my own epic wedding.”

 

“Lily’s not going to take the news of me dumping her very well.”

 

“She’ll have to get over it. I’ve decided you _need_ to date me and that’s final.”

 

Barry feels her do that thing where she rubs her thumb against the back of his hand that she’s holding. He smiles down at the top of her head.

 

They slowly sway and spin in their dimly-lit corner by the side of his bar, the upbeat end-of-party music doing nothing to hamper their swoony slow dancing.

 

Barry only steps on her foot once.

 

“This is me asking nicely for you to never do that again,” Iris backs up a little, eyes up at Barry.

 

“I thought it was obvious that breaking your toes was not in my master plan to make you fall in love with me.”

 

“And what _is_ on this master plan, Bowtie?” Iris smirks devilishly at him, swinging their interlocked hands between them.

 

“I can’t give away my secrets,” he lifts his right arm holding her left and spins her, her skirt twirling around and her giggle infectious, “Though I think we’re getting to the part of it you’re really going to like.”

 

“Has smooth Bowtie made his rare 30-second appearance? Is he finally going to kiss me?”

 

“I might pass out,” he says, voice steady, taking one step towards her.

 

“I’ll catch you,” She steps up a little closer.

 

“You’re so lucky that girl from before is still eyeing us so I can’t chicken out.”

 

“Would you quit blabbing and make that mouth of yours more useful?”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Barry nods and lets out the shakiest breath of his life before ducking his head and pulling her so close to him space no longer exists, and gently presses his lips to hers.

 

It surpasses any feeling he’s ever known.

 

If he thought kissing mystery wedding planner would be good, he’s not prepared for kissing his girlfriend.

 

He feels her hands tie knots in his hair as her lips do wonders on his own. For all he knows, the entire world for that moment consists of Iris West, her soft, playful lips, and absolutely nothing else.

 

He likes the little giggle of a breath she lets out after, “Dammit, Bowtie, I fogged up your glasses!”

 

He opens his eyes and sees that she did indeed, so he haphazardly moves them off with one hand and tries to run them clean on his shirt, not wanting to move his other hand from its spot around her waist.

 

She bites her lip and giggles again at his fumbling, helps him put his wide rimmed glasses back on and then leans up to him to whisper, “This is me asking nicely for you to do that so many more times again.”

 

He looks to his side and sees Cisco, one arm propping him up against the wall by the kitchen, the other draped incredulously over his forehead. Then he turns back to her, eyes a new shade of dark and determined.

 

“Iris?”

 

“Barry,” she echoes his hushed tone and presses close to him yet again.

 

“If you wait right here for three minutes, I can convince Cisco to let me kick him out of the apartment for the night.”

 

“That would _not_ be very nice of you, now would it?” He sees a familiar twinkle in her eyes before she grabs him by the ends of his shiny black bowtie and stands on her top toes to give him a warm, sloppy kiss. She smiles with their foreheads and noses pressed together, her twinkle only growing brighter, “Oh, I have taught you so well.”

 

* * *

 

_**-One Year Later-** _

“I was promised a stronger drink for round two,” father of the bride pats a fist on the top of the bar and Barry looks up with a smile.

 

“Sir, it is good to have you back. Daughters looking lovely as ever,” he says and grabs two glasses from behind him.

 

“I think I’ll finally be able to pull off a first dance by daughter #3.”

 

“Please, you were incredible.”

 

“Oh, what a charmer this boy is,” his wife rolls her eyes and hits her husband’s shoulder, “He dances like a tree stump and you know it. You’ve now seen it twice.”

 

“Maybe he could marry Rebecca and we could make it a third,” the father of the bride says with a chuckle and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

 

“Good god, please, give him a virgin drink before he gets drunk enough to say anything else stupid,” she says laughing, then looks back at her husband, “He’s got a girlfriend. The wedding planner.”

 

Barry’s eyes widen at her and he almost spills her drink in the process.

 

“She is just the most adorable thing. Could not stop talking about you one day when she came over to plan centerpieces. Of course, she didn’t bring it up because she’s very professional but my god, that little laugh of hers...”

 

Barry nods, “I know exactly the one.”

 

“So, I just had to ask her who had her so giggly,” the mother of the bride smirks at Barry as he finishes their drinks and places them up on the countertop, “It was the most precious thing I’ve ever witnessed. She was practically glowing!”

 

“Believe me, I will never understand how I was able to get so lucky,”

 

The couple takes their drinks as Barry fixes his glasses. The father brings his drink up to his nose with a light yell, “Oh, son, I can already tell you did not disappoint.”

 

“Only the best for you guys.”

 

“Between you and Miss West and those smiles of yours, we could power the whole city’s electric for at least a month,” she says, taking a sip of her drink, he laughs, “Maybe a year.”

 

“You have a good night,” the father nods away from the bar and Barry waves back, “Don’t leave tonight without giving that girl of yours at least one dance!”

 

“Did I hear dance?” Barry whips his head to his right at the sound of his favorite voice. She stands a few feet from the side of the bar, head quirked and arms crossed.

 

He starts making a drink for the next person in line while shaking his head at her.

 

“I’m working.”

 

“So am I,” she quips, meeting Barry behind the bar.

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” he glances at her peripherally as he shakes a drink and pours, noting the way she’s eyeing all the fun things back here she can play with.

 

“I’m a good girl, I am not touching anything,” but somehow the lilt in her voice convinced Barry otherwise.

 

“Enjoy your night,” Barry says as he hands off his next round of drinks, trying to ignore the girl next to him who is distracting by literally just existing.

 

“Let me do one, please,” she pleads, with wide eyes, “C’mon, those squirty things look so fun.”

 

“They’re not supposed to be fun,” he picks up said “squirty thing” to pour a drink in a glass.

 

“Well _you’re_ no fun,” she says with a small hmph, leaning against the counter.

 

“I know.”

 

Barry refuses to look at her because he knows she’ll be giving him eyes, _those_ eyes. And he falls for them every time.

 

The next guests step up to the counter, and if Barry wasn’t so tall he’d have never known they were there. Two little girls with bouncy curls ask him for soda. Someone he assumes is their dad nods at Barry from behind them and whispers “Just put one of those cherries and a little straw in a glass of water, it’ll keep them happy.”

 

Barry looks down at Iris, “If I let you try this—“

 

“Baby, you can pick the Netflix movie when we get home tonight and I won’t say a word about how dorky it is. Swear it,” She nods quickly.

 

“Oh, this is serious.”

 

“I’ll extend my offer the whole weekend.”

 

And he would have let her do it anyway, but those eyes really do make him melt. He pushes her two glasses and she practically squeals.

 

He presses back and lets her fill the drinks, laughs at her silly sound effects.

 

“Watch out, Bartender, I am coming for your job.”

 

“Oh, you can have it,” Barry laughs, “No promises I’ll rescue you when you get bombarded with flirty wedding guests.”

 

Iris rolls her eyes and grabs the two drinks, then walks about from behind the bar with them and crouches down to the girls’ eye level.

 

“Special delivery, two fancy party drinks for two pretty girls!” She says holds them out to them and they take them wobbly by both hands each.

 

Their giggles are almost as infectious as Iris’.

 

“What do we say?” The dad looks down at them.

 

“Thank you!” one of the girls shouts, smiling at Iris through a lopsided and missing-teeth grin. The other is already too busy slurping from her tiny red straw.

 

“You are so welcome, miss. Have fun, and go twirl in those pretty dresses for me,” the girl giggles again and runs to her dad, the other not far behind, and the dad waves gratefully at Barry and Iris.

 

“Not bad for your first day on the job.”

 

“And I didn’t even get hit on.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Barry says, watching her stand and cross back to him, “Then what would you call this?” he grabs her hand and pulls her flush against him, and he wishes he could bottle that laugh up.

 

“My boyfriend, causing trouble,” she rolls her eyes playfully.

 

“I thought you wanted to dance.”

 

“I hate it when you can use my words against me.”

 

“But you love me,” he says with a sheepish grin, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“For some crazy reason, yes I do, Bowtie.”

 

“Barry.”

 

“Bowtie.”

 

“I feel like we’d be a lot more cute and romantic if you stopped calling me by an article of clothing.”

 

“I think we’re plenty cute and romantic,” she swings her hair to behind her shoulder and brings their interlocked hands up to her chin, “You know and I both know we’re going to be all kinds of romantic when I get you home and out of this bowtie,” she bats her lashes and Barry quirks his head, a warm,deep feeling spreading inside him when she looks at him like that.

 

“Who is causing trouble now?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” She purses her lips, “I just wanna cuddle my handsome boy on our couch while we watch one of his nerd shows.”

 

“Oh, is that it?”

 

“That’s it.”

 

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

 

She looks up at him smirking down at her, and seems to study his face for a few moments.

 

“Do I have something in my teeth?” He replies to her fixed gaze.

 

“No, I just,” she lets a breathy smile shine across her face, then she gasps, “Oh my god.”

 

“What?” Barry drawls with a pointed nod, ready for her to make fun of his face or his hair or his stupid, goofy grin.

 

But she just tilts her head to the side and taps her ear. Barry listens.

 

“Is this—“

 

“You’re not getting out of this dance now. You have no line at the bar and this is _our song!_ ”

 

She holds his left hand and drags him out from behind the bar and spins him towards her when they reach the corner of the dance floor.

 

“I do love this song,” he smiles at her as she wraps one arm around his neck and places her hand in his other.

 

“Oh god, I know that look,” she sighs, “you’re gonna sing.”

 

“ _You make me smile like the sun, fall out of bed,”_ he dips his head with a smirk and sings the words to her, she presses a tight smile and looks anywhere but his face, flushed with quiet embarrassment, and a few beats pass before her catches up from his little giggle, then continues, “ _Crazy on a Sunday night...”_

“Saturday,” she deadpans, looking up at him with a playful look.

 

“Here comes my favorite part,” he says giddily, squeezing her hand and his eyes in one of his widest smiles, “ _You make me dance like a fool,_ ” he fakes a light step on her feet, and she lets out a deep, head-back laugh, “ _Forget how to breathe._ ”

 

Iris takes a deep breath after her laughing and scrunches her nose at his smirk, before admitting defeat and lightly whispering, “ _Just the thought of you can drive me wild,”_

_“Oh, you make me smile.”_ he joins her whisper-singing, pressing his forehead against hers.

 

She lets out a breathy sigh as they continue to slowly sway.

 

“Barry Allen, I would really, really like to marry you.”

 

Barry’s eyes shoot open and he forgets the entire English language in those 2 seconds. She giggles up at him but looks kind of shy in her confession.

 

Since he’s still trying to reteach himself the alphabet to answer this kind of bold (and wonderful) statement, she continues, “I know this might sound kind of random but I’ve been thinking about it for a while and, as a wedding planner, I’ve basically got chronic wedding brain.”

 

“Iris,” he starts seriously, and he wishes she didn’t look so worried, “You have literally beat me at everything in this relationship. From like, just kissing to moving in together, you always beat me to it and ask first. Could you let me at least have the proposal?”

 

He swears she’s never smiled brighter.

 

“As long as these people aren’t back for daughter #3 before you ever get around to it.”

 

“I’m not that bad,” Barry scoffs.

 

“Babe, we’d barely be past holding hands if this were all up to you.”

 

“I like holding hands.”

 

“So do I,” Iris says lightly, “But think of how much better it would be to hold this hand with matching rings.”

 

“You make a good argument,” Barry muses, eyeing their interlocked hands, “But I will have you know, Miss Wedding Brain,” he looks back at her, “I’ve been thinking about this since you first stole me from that bar.”

 

“I believe _saved_ is the correct word you’re looking for.”

 

“My hero,” he presses a soft kiss to her forehead and she holds him tighter at the touch, “Would it make you feel better to know Cisco helped me pick out the ring?”

 

“Oh, thank god. I was dying to ask. He has much better taste than you, you hopeless boy,” She sighs and feigns relief only half-jokingly, and playful smile on her lips.

 

He sways her contentedly in his arms, her head tucked under his chin and resting on his chest, then picks up his light singing again:

 

“ _Don’t know how I lived without ya,”_

She surprises him with how quickly she joins in and steals the next line from him, “ _Cause every time that I get around ya,”_

_“I see the best of me inside your eyes,”_

She grabs his face in her hands and breaks her record from moments before for most brilliant smile when she whispers to him, “ _Oh, you make me smile.”_

And Barry just _has_ to kiss her.

 

“I really should find that first girl who made you almost pee your pants when she hit on you. I’d like to personally thank her,” Iris says to him as the song slowly settles and fades.

 

“I don’t think she’d be our biggest fan.”

 

“I like us just fine, Bowtie.”

 

He quirks an eyebrow at her bright face, “What happens if they ever switch the uniform to a tie?”

 

“Oh, you’ll always be my awkward little Bowtie,” she holds the ends of the neat, little black bowtie around his neck and wiggles it before straightening it out, then standing up as tall as he can to kiss him on his nose right under the bridge of his glasses, “That sound okay to you?”

 

And my god, if that smile is not the reason the sun comes up in the morning.

 

“Always sounds absolutely perfect.”

* * *

 


End file.
